


heaviness

by deanssammy (babylxxrry)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, References to Depression, chosen family, dean and jack appear in passing, possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 20:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16025549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babylxxrry/pseuds/deanssammy
Summary: it's a weight resting heavy on his shoulders and he doesn't know why.[sam struggles.]





	heaviness

**Author's Note:**

> hey hi i'm back with another piece of sam angst. there's another one completed but waiting for the right time to appear, so i'm sorry if you were genuinely hoping for something a little less ..recurring. i'm sorry.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: none major, though i'll caution that there's themes of depression (kinda?) in here that go largely unaddressed, unhealthy coping methods, and just a hint at john's a+ parenting (minor)
> 
> dedicated to s and e, who put up with me all the time. love you both.

Sam struggles to take a full breath. It’s not that there’s something physically wrong, or even emotionally or mentally. Nothing hurts. He doesn’t feel numb, doesn’t feel the need to cry or scream or break something. He just doesn’t feel.

Yeah, he registers the cool wood under his palms, feels the way the gaps between the planks dig into his skin, but he doesn’t _feel_ them. He hangs his head low, letting it pull at his shoulders. He knows, distantly, that his knees will ache and pop when he finally gets up, but he can’t. He can’t muster up the strength to even get off his goddamned floor. He’d meant to pick up the box of bullets he’d dropped earlier that day. Once he’d sat down with every intention of finishing quickly and going to get food, all of the energy seemed to drain out of him, leaving him slouched heavily over his hands.

God, he’s not even sad, or lacking sleep, or really all that stressed, though all of those probably played a role.

Sam’s just tired. He’s filled to the brim with this bone-deep weariness that won’t leave him, no matter what he says or does or tries. He can’t even gather enough will to sit up properly, or to lie down on his bed. It’s all of three feet away, and he could fall asleep and let the weariness consume his mind, but he can’t even do that.

Dean’s footsteps approach his door and he looks up.

“Sam? We’re headed out for dinner soon. You coming?”

“Yeah, lemme just finish cleaning my shit,” Sam manages to call back, voice rasping through the words. He pulls himself upright too quickly, reaching for the empty box and succeeding only in knocking it further from him when the headrush leaves him gasping and dizzy. He sucks in a breath. It doesn’t fill his lungs.

“Okay. We leave in twenty.” 

Sam listens to Dean walk away before he lets himself collapse back onto his heels.  He fights his lungs and takes as big of a breath as he can manage, gritting his teeth against the way his ribs protest with the stretch. It exits him in a rush and he feels no better.

The box is sitting just out of arm’s reach, taunting him.

_You’re going to have to do better than that, Sam._

He doesn’t know why it takes on John’s voice, and he doesn’t like it.

_What a failure,_ it mocks, _can’t even clean up a few pitiful bullets._

Sam thinks that once, he would’ve taken the words to heart, would’ve done everything in his power to prove them wrong.

He finds he doesn’t have the strength to do that. He just lets the abuse fall onto his shoulders and sit heavy, weighing him down along with the myriad of other things he’s collected over time. He finds that it’s hard to sit up, that the ground is looking more and more inviting.

Jack’s footsteps approach, quicker and quieter than Dean’s. Sam hurriedly gathers up a handful of the offending bullets and dumps them unceremoniously into the box just as Jack opens the door.

“Hey, Jack,” Sam murmurs, quieter than he’d wanted to. He frowns at himself. Pulls himself together just a little bit.

“Dean wanted me to tell you that we’re headed out in five,” Jack says softly, like he can tell how fragile Sam is. Sam hates it. He doesn’t need his family to bear his burdens for him. He doesn’t _want_ them to have to. Besides, who could possibly understand all of the layers and knots and tangles that come with it?

Sam nods a few seconds too late, and Jack glances at him concernedly before he turns and closes the door behind him.

Had it really been fifteen minutes since Dean came in? Sam presses his eyes closed. He _needs_ to clean up the rest of this mess before he leaves.

He shoves his way through his mind, reckless and angry. He knows he’ll pay for it later in the form of a crash and a low that’ll last for too long, but if there’s one thing that he’ll fight for, it’s his family. It’s Dean and Jack. Not himself. Just them.

He finishes clearing up the floor with some kind of manic energy burning hot through his body, surveying it with a twisted sense of pride when he’s done. He can feel the nothingness prickling at the back of his consciousness, though, and he knows he doesn’t have long. Might as well make the most of it, right?

Sam shakes his head to clear it and pulls himself to the door. He takes a deep breath and steels himself before he opens it.

_Do it for Dean and Jack._

_Dean and Jack._

 

-fin.

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment or kudos if sam really needs a fucking hug already and maybe i'll write a piece of h/c fluffy stuff to make up for it. ;)


End file.
